Mystery of Friendship Love

by BeautifulxMess   Jan 25, 2007


Another story started with many tears.
One more day my heart torn in two.
More attacks to fight these past years.
And one less smile came through.

Who do I run to for in my time of need?
Where do I go when I'm falling down?
How can I always end up on my knees?
When will my friendship come around?

Too many questions to answer myself.
It always begins and ends this way.
I'm a dusty book on an old wooden shelf.
And I can't live like this every day.

I wish y'all could just see my pain.
You need to know what you do to me.
You always bring that thunder rain.
And you hurt me till I can't see.

In the dirt I lay alone with a broken heart.
Without a hand to hold on for help.
Didn't you ever see how I'm falling apart?
And did you follow with what I dealt?

An abiding scar wouldn't add to this bitterness.
It's amazing how shallow people really are.
I feel like dirt, nothing more, but less.
And I wish I could run beyond afar.

I wish I could figure out this little mystery.
Investigate why I can't be good enough.
The case of getting out of misery.
The mystery of real friendship love.

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Latest Comments

  • 17 years ago

    by Goran Rahim

    I know i have commented this before but that time i never knew how talented you were

  • 17 years ago

    by Goran Rahim

    Another WOW poem by you
    i say taht you are one of the greatest poet here at P&Q cause your poems are just so great

  • 17 years ago

    by BrixGoesxRawr

    Who do I run to for in my time of need?

    ^ In this line, I think you should take out the word 'for'. I just think it would sound a lot better.

    This was really good. Sad, though. It flowed really nicely & it just really touched me. I can totally relate to this.

    Beautifully written, Hunny.

    Bri [x]

  • 17 years ago

    by Tom Swart

    Nice, I think I could sense your words and their meaning. Keep up the prose and remember to be one with your poem. If it is real youll be able to feel it breath and its heart to beat. A poem is a fragment of time, a sliver of emotion trapped in our hearts and set free upon the page. Where it can finally sore and fly with other poems or cry and weep with other broken hearts. Poetry is nothing more than emotion set in motion. Poetry is seldom more than the small fossil that waits within the stone begging for someone to chip it free, and then to wonder how it came to be.

    Keep up your good works. May your poems be a great frame for your emotions. May there be peace and love in your life. And may the mark you make upon those hearts around you be filled with joyous fragments of your own heart.

  • 17 years ago

    by supratim

    Anyone can feel the pain of lost friendship through this poem...

    really a brilliant job

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